Christine
by Emmaplease
Summary: Christian comes home, heartbroken, and his sister tries to work out whats wrong. Then along comes Christine, who he isn't going to fall in love with. Honest. That's my promise as the author. A work in progress, summary is basically rubbish, PLEASE review!
1. Prologue

A/N – so, this is kind of an old thing I've had stored in the drafts section on my hotmail for a while

**A/N – so, this is kind of an old thing I've had stored in the drafts section on my hotmail for a while. I've got a bit of Chapt. 1 written out, but its kind of crud, so I'll have to rewrite. Therefore, I put this to you: reviews equal interest equal more chapters. No reviews equals no new chapters. **

**ALSO, important thing: this story is not set in the Moulin Rouge, will not involve Moulin Rouge characters (except Christian and the occasional cameo, perhaps, in future chapters) and if you're looking for ships, even with OC's, you won't find them here. Yes, you heard, I'm sworn off soppy romantic shippy fanfics for a while :**

**Prologue:**

Christian and Satine.

Satine and Christian.

Two people that for a short time were _so_ closely intertwined, I stopped thinking of us as two people. Satinian. Christine.

It could never last. Of course it couldn't last. For truly, the course of true love never did run smooth, did it? I was crazy to think in my stupid, naive, love-fuddled mind that I could ever be happy forever, some stupid, innocent daydream.

It felt like a daydream. Every moment I was with Satine, coated in a sheen so thick I can only remember emotions, emotions and brief flashes of detail so intense they leave me doubled over.

The sound of her laughter as I told her something that seemed funny at the time.

The flash of her diamonds as we whirled around the middle of a darkened stage.

The sound of her voice when she sang to me, that one, last time.

Her face when she realised this was the end.

It _was_ the end.

A week later, Toulouse came over. Whatever I said to him, it must have convinced him. I haven't seen anybody connected with the Moulin Rouge since.

But that's not important any more. That part of my life is over, and I've decided I'm going back, back to where life was so mundane and boring I didn't _need _to feel.

Sometimes I think I might be mental, going back to a place I hated so much. But hey, we're all insane anyway, right?

**Relax, that's just the beginning angsty bit. But you want more? Reviews please :)**


	2. Chapter 1 Christian

**A/N Sorry I've been such a slow updater. Mostly, I'm just lazy, and paranoid about bring my notebooks downstairs to type it up incase anyone reads it. Anyhoo, here it is :) P.S...spot the film cameo.**

The train pulled into the station slowly, letting off a hiss of steam as it came to a halt alongside the platform.

Christian sighed, put his hat on and exited the train, letting the door swing shut behind him. The station was exactly as he remembered it - small, dingy, with a peeling wooden bench under a wooden shelter and a lonely station masters house. Setting his suitcase down beside him, he knocked on the warped wooden door of the house and pushed it open. Sitting reading a broadsheet newspaper was Perkins, the station master, his white tufty hair teased into a mass of curls barely hidden by his navy hat.

Christian began to introduce himself, but Perkins interrupted.

"Well, if it isn't young Christian!" he said in his creaky, old-man voice. "Back from his travels, I see! Mr and Mrs** insert Christian's surname here. I don't know it. If you do, would you mind sticking it in a review for me? **will be pleased!" Then he frowned and folded up his paper. "I suppose you'll want me to call up to the house for a car? Of course," he added, almost reproachfully, "it is Sunday. I'm not sure the vicar will be best pleased..."

Christian sighed. This was the world he had come back to.

"I'll...I'll walk." he mumbled, stumbled out of the house and started up the long lane to Beechwood House.

Nothing has changed, thought Christian, ambling past the hills he could draw with his eyes closed. It's like someone put the whole of England to bed whilst i was gone.

Somewhere in the distance, a blackbird chirruped to remind him that it wasn't still asleep.

He was coming up to the village now, its motley collection of local stone buildings clustering around the centrepiece, a stone church with a square in front. From inside, the first strains of Notre Dame de la Rochelle could be heard.

Christian checked his pocket watch, pulled his hat low over his forehead and sat down against the stone fountain of the square, letting his hand trail in the greenish water. Its cool texture felt smooth, nice against the dust of the train journey.

Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the opaque water.

_I look like a bearded lady, _thought Christian. The usual wave of apathy swept over him, until he remembered - he was home now, and the normal mask would have to stay firmly on.

_The lights flashed red and gold; the girls danced as one excited mass, their white masks shining in the darkness. And, swept up in it, the men started dancing too, like baby deer in their stiff coat and tails. It was the night of the masquerade ball._

Christian winced at the unwelcome memories, and then again as he once more caught sight of his reflection.

Leaving his suitcase where it was (for who would steal it in a place like this?) Christian headed for the one shop he knew was never shut on a Sunday - the confectioners.

Ducking his head through the doorway, Christian presented himself to the shopkeeper.

"Juliet?"

"Christian!" said Juliet, immediately leaving the counter to reach up and hug him, "it's been an age! Johnny?" she called into the back room, and a tall man emerged, tying a green apron around his waist.

"Juliet, are you stopping for lunch already?", he asked, fumbling with his straps before noticing Christian.

"Christian!" he beamed, wringing his hand. "How were your travels?"

"Could I borrow your bathroom to freshen up?" blurted out Christian to Juliet, blatantly ignoring the question.

Johnny exchanged a glance with his wife.

"It would be our pleasure," said Juliet quickly, "let me show you the way."

She showed Christian into a small bathroom with a sink and mirror, and, thankfully, left him to it.

Christian quickly lathered on lotion until it covered the lower half of his face like a mask-

_"Three ladies to every man!" roared Harold Zidler over the chaos - "and each and every one a jewel in Zidler's crown!"_

_The ladies shriek, the men roar, and each and every one is completely intoxicated by the Moulin Rouge._

"Mary, mother of Jesus!" swore Christian, as the razor slipped and carved a red line down the back of his neck. The razor clattered in the sink and came to rest on the plughole.

Christian let out an angry puff of breath and picked up the razor, rapidly shaving his face and rinsing it in the sink, the stopping to examine himself in the mirror once more.

_Its been ages since I was last clean shaven, _he thought, surprised, _not since-_

"Christian!" called Juliet up the narrow back stairs, "They're leaving the church!"

Christian let out a relieved breath, silently and breathlessly thankful for the distraction.

On his way out, Juliet hugged him again, in sympathy for the big reunion; Christian realised briefly he was supposed to be scared, took a deep breath and stepped out of the shop-

**A/N So, did you catch the great big blatant cameo of Chocolat, with Juliet(te) Binoche and Johnny (Depp)? It wasn't really neccessary, but it was fun! I don't really know where I'm going with the flashbacks, either, to be honest, but please R&R for some motivation!! I'll admit, this chapter isn't my best - I wrote the end really briefly, because it was late and I was tired, and some of the description...gosh, it shames me. Also, Christian's thought processes are really random and I'm not sure its obvious that his flashbacks to the MAS(K)querade ball are triggered by when he thinks of mask-related-type things. Know what? Its rubbish. I hate it already. Promise Ch2 will be better thought :)**


	3. Chapter 2 Abigail

**A/N Here I am again, late as always. Not, that I have an update schedule. But 22-4 EIGHTEEN DAYS between updates if I finish this chapter in the next hour. Meh. I suck. Anyhow, here goes. This chapter will switch POV, to his sister Abigail...who I just invented about 10 seconds ago. Hope you like it...**

_Abigail's POV._

Being, as I was, of a naturally introverted personality, church was never as much of a bore for me as some of my cousins. They, unlike me, spent alot of their time giggling and pinching each other in the pews, their knobbly legs swinging back and forth and kicking the wooden benches. I was thankfully able to at least maintain the facade that I was listening to what the dear Father was telling us, sitting quietly and prettily with my hymn book in one hand and a parasol in the other.

My mind, on the other hand, was elsewhere...I'll confess that alot of the time I let my thoughts drift to France and to my brother Christian, who on his last correspondance (albeit over 6 months ago) was living delicious sin at what appeared to be nothing better than a glorified brothel. When I was feeling outrageous, I liked to pretend I lived there too, not _worked _there, of course, but lived there. Well, lived at all really. He told my mother and father he was staying with friends in the south, of course. Ironically, they were the other reason my mind often left for the French shores, my friend Christine, who really _was _staying with these friends. French-born and extremely outspoken, Christine had written to me to tell me she would be visiting soon. The house she lived in, in France, was another of the places I wished I was, with its stifling hot, stark landscape that smelt of flowers in the evening. It had crossed my mind more than once to invite myself over there, but seeing Christine here would, nevertheless, suffice.

So, as I was wandering out of the church, swinging my parasol absent mindedly, it was Christine and her upcoming visit that occupied my thoughts. I let my gaze slide around the square, past the butcher and the baker, to the blue front of the confectioner, and then I saw Christian. At first, my mind dismissed it as just another daydream, and then I realised it was real.

"Mother!" I hissed, poking her gently with my parasol, unable to keep an instinctive smile from spreading over my face. "Look!"

I motioned the frilly monstrosity (my parasol, that is, not my mother) towards the confectioners.

"Christian?" she called uncertainly, squinting to try and see his face, hastening towards him, skirts rustling.

Christian looked up, startled, and for an instant I saw something in his eyes, something I'd never seen before, then a barrier seemed to slide between him and us.

He accepted my mother's hugs and kisses politely, murmuring "Mother," quietly to her effusions.

She quickly lead him to our carriage, neither having to drag him or hurry behind him, and he helped her in, again, politely. He let me in first, too, standing by expressionless as I climbed in.

We hadn't even spoken yet! Something was definately wrong with my brother.

I watched him all the way home, staring out of the window as Mother prattled on, some deep sadness in his eyes.

He knew I was watching him...but he refused to meet my eyes.

"And the shortly slight slug sighed, wide-eyed, undecided..." I sighed unconciously.

Christian's mouth twitched involuntarily as my mother gave me a Look.

"Sorry, mother," I said quietly, "I let my mouth get away from me."

"Abigail has been studying the works of Mr Carroll!" said Mother quickly, "Is she not the cleverest little thing?"

Christian nodded slightly, his attention already turning back to the window, and the rest of the journey passed without incident until we drew up outside the house.

I'll admit, sometimes I forget just how large our house is...although Christine never stops on about it whenever she comes, and many of our closer acquaintances shyly confide how jealous they are of it. It is rather large, but crumbling in its grandeur, and the only reason we own it is through Father's great, great grandfather or some other relative, I don't recall. Mother and I mostly run it, what with Father often away on business and Christian...just away, I suppose. Its clear he hasn't been used to grand lodgings in Montmatre, and he looks at it like he detests its very existence.

_Why on earth did you come back then, _I ask him in my head, but I save the verbal questioning for later. Preferably, when Mother isn't around. Mother is already taking him on a tour of the house and gardens, enlisting the housekeeper and the stable lad on the way for help in the more technical advancements since he left.

I sigh slightly and head inside to finish my needlework.

After supper, I paced up and down Christian's corridor three or four times before I finally decided to enter. I'm still not sure what instinct made me nervous, but it was definately there. I suppose I could sense that Christian had changed, that he was no longer just my big brother. That was really what made me decide to enter. I was determined to discover what had changed him, and why.

I knocked three times, the quiet sound travelling through the wood of the door easily. I heard Christian stand, walk slowly to the door, and stand on the other side. Bracing himself? The door opened slowly.

"Abigail." said Christian with an air of resignment. "Come in."

I scowled in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Nice to see you too, Christian." I said, sweeping in and sitting myself on the end of his bed.

"Sorry," he says without meaning it. He goes to stand at the window, staring again.

"Christian?" I say, getting up and touching his arm. He winces away from the contact. I start again.

"You look awful. Do they not feed you in France?"

"Lets get one thing straight, Abigail," he says, and he sounds tired, "I don't ever want to talk about, hear about or see France ever again. Is that clear?"

I feel like throwing my head against a wall, I'm so frustrated, but I calm my thoughts down immediately.

"Something's happened to you, Christian, and it's torn you apart...you don't have to tell me what, but...if you need to talk about it, I'm here. Whenever."

"I won't," he says curtly.

"Goodnight, Christian," I say, giving up for the evening and giving him a hug. He stiffens. "I'll drop the physical contact, too," I promise.

"Goodnight, Abigail." comes a voice from behind me as I leave the room.


	4. Chapter 3 Christine

**A/N Urgh, another point of view. You could say I'm casting my feelers around. Sorry. This one is the mysterious Christine, though! Sorry this is such a short one. I just needed to end it there and i'm SOOO tired. I don't like this chapter. No big.  
**

Christine DuPont lifted up her suitcase and stepped lightly onto the train, lips pursed slightly against the noise of the Paris train station. A whistle pierced the air and Christine winced as it hit her head, clip-clopping briskly down the train until she reached the compartment furthest down the train, the blinds drawn against the windows and the door tightly locked. Christine slid her hand into her pocket and drew out a key, inserting it into the lock and letting herself in before locking the door behind her.

The carriage was surprisingly quiet, and thankfully completely empty.

Silently thanking the heavens for rich friends, Christine kicked off her shoes and poked them under the chair with her stockinged feet, then unpinned her tightly bound hair and shook it around her face, checking herself quickly in the reflection of the dusty window.

A knock at the door interrupted her process.

"Madame," began a smartly dressed porter-

"Mademoiselle," corrected Christine, "do come in."

The porter looked perplexed.

"Madame, I only wish to inform you that-"

"Mademoiselle!" insisted Christine, ushering the unfortunate porter in. "And if it's that hard for you to understand, you may call me Christine."

She helped the porter to a cup of tea.

"And you?" she enquired.

"Euh...Leon Dubestky, M-Christine. And I really only came to inform you that-"

"Pssh!" motioned Christine indignantly, "And tell me, Monsieur Dubetsky, do you get time to spare, when you are in England?"

Leon nodded his head cautiously.

"An hour or two, perhaps, unless we are running late."

"Indeed!" said Christine, apparently delighted, "Then tell me of London! It has been an age, since I have last visited."

Leon Dubetsky surveyed the Mademoiselle DuPont incredulously. She displayed a completely different persona to when he had seen her on the platform - from a well-to-do, scrupulously independent French lady to this...well, Dubetsky considered, one word for it was eccentric.

Slowly, Dubetsky began to transcribe the latest in London society, from the type of frills on Lady Jasmine's dress to the loss of Lord Carthington recently, a disease of the liver.

All the way through, Mademoiselle DuPont's eyes lit up with a kind of excited fervour.

"Oh, you do know such alot about London society!" she said, taking out her excitement on a peacock-striped cushion with yellow tassels. "How do you remember it all?"

"I make it my business, Madame," said Dubetsky, tipping his hat, "now I really must inform you that dinner will be served at six and be on my way. I thankyou for your troubles."

"And thank _you_, Monsieur," said Christine as he shut the door, stifling a giggle. _I really must try scaring the staff more often. _


	5. Chapter 4 Christian

**A/N Okay. So my sisters gone to bed, so there's no possibility of her being a snoop and snooping over my shoulder, and trust me, she can snoop like snoop doggy dog when she wants to. Snooping aside, once again I hugely do dislike this chapter. You can tell I was tired when I wrote it, because my first draft is absolutely littered with grammatical errors, and I shortened Christian to Xtian. Anyway. Read on, buddy. This one's in Christian's POV.**

Christian woke up in the morning with no idea where he was. He shot out of bed before he'd even woken, his heart pounding furiously - waking up somewhere unknown wasn't uncommon in the M-- when he was away, and for a moment his reflexes had told him he was back...there.

Christian sighed and dropped back onto the bed, rubbing his hand over his face.

There was a timid knock at the door. Christian made a noise of half-hearted permission and it swung open slowly, revealing Abigail already fully dressed, although her hair still hung loose.

"Good morning, Abigail," said Christian, transferring his gaze from her to the ceiling.

"Mother says breakfast will be ready in half an hour," she began bravely, "and she also wants me to tell you she's taken the liberty of organising a 'small get-together' in honour of your return. And," her mouth twitched slightly, "she maintains that your presence will be...mandatory. Which brings me to my other point." she paused, "Oh, do sit up, Christian, I can't tell if you're listening to me!"

Slowly, Christian sat straight up and looked Abigail defiantly in the eye. She gave him a scathing look in return, unaffected.

"There's no need to look at me like that, Christian, I'm only trying to help you! Now, as I was saying, at this party tomorrow, _everyone _is going to be asking you about your travels. And I _know-_" she continued, crashing through the beginning of his protestation, "you said you didn't want to talk about it, but the fact remains you're going to have to anyway, unless you want to tell mother about the exact nature of your lodgings?"

Christian looked at her.

"Don't push it Abigail-" he begain.

Abigail scowled.

"Which part of _I'm trying to help you _don't you understand? The fact is, you and Christine are supposed to have spent a year together and you haven't, Christine is coming to stay tomorrow morning, and you are _both _none the wiser! So here's your cover story," she said, throwing a bundle of papers onto the bed, "Christine's letters. Read them and treat them as your Bible. Understood?"

Christian shrugged lightly, which Abigail took to mean yes.

"Final thing," she said briskly, "is your reactions. For example- and so, Mr Claremont, how were your travels in France?"

Even though he was expecting it, Christian winced involuntarily.

Abigail gave a grim smile.

"You can see my point? You _need_ to be normal, tomorrow night. These people have eagle eyes, and you're already quite the scandal. If it helps," she mused, thinking out loud, "think of the Moulin Rouge as a seperate place to France, like an annexe-"

Christian shot up like a cork, an immediate expression of rage and pain on his face. With what looked like great effort, he seemed to pause, burying it within him, his eyes growing neutral once more.

"Look," continued Abigail, softer this time, checking she hadn't gone too far. "You've been to France with me before, haven't you? Think of it as that, the land of perfume houses and ladies with big hats. Like-like London!" she said, "Think of France as London. Nothing like- like that other place, is it?"

Christian finally seemed to tire of listening.

"I think we're done, Abby," he said, guiding her out of the room, "tell mother, I'll be down for breakfast."

Abigail left the room, somewhat disgruntled, but nevertheless, a grain of hope flared within her. She'd had no reason to suspect it, but some instinct told her she'd got through to Christian.

**A/N Bleh. I realised I've got the beginning of breakfast written out, but frankly, I can't be bothered to finish it right now. And I'm watching Family Fortunes. And this is REALLY SHORT isn't it?**

**Okay, a quick recap (because I've realised in my Lysander Scamander story the OCs are confusing, and I doubt they are here too but they might be.**

**Christian Claremont - I think it's kind of obvious**

**Abigail Claremont - Christian's sister. I love her as a character. Maybe that's just me.**

**Lady Victoria Claremont - We haven't met her yet. But we will next chapter. Christian's mother**

**Lord Claremont - He's an arse. I have no intentions of ever putting him in. But I might.**

**Christine DuPont - Abigail's friend, French, is coming to stay with the Claremont's for a while. Is supposed to have spent the last year with Christian in France. **

**Characters you probably won't be seeing again:**

**Johnny and Juliet Greening - sweet shop owners, non-churchgoers, friends of Christian**

**Perkins - what a dude. Station master bloke.**


	6. Chapter 5 Abigailish

**A/N Ick. I'm utterly sorry that this chapter is both really short and late, and is also not that interesting. Writing the first couple of chapters of Professor Malfoy has, weirdly, creatively exhausted me...that's pretty unusual. Luckily, my Malfoy mojo is over for now, so I'm hoping my Christine inspiration will come back? **

**I think I'll have to re-watch Moulin Rouge again. Anyway, you get some character development for Abigail and Christian's mom here...enjoy!**

The Lady Victoria licked her lips to remove any traces of food and beckoned to the maid to serve her more. Obligingly, the young girl, dressed in a livery of black and white, with a gold embroidered crest, obligingly helped her to more food, piling her plate high.

Abigail entered the room and immediately she sat up, looking behind Abigail for Christian.

"He said he'll be down soon," said Abigail, sitting herself down and helping herself to eggs.

Lady Victoria shrugged slightly, and began to eat more ham.

Abigail leant on her hand and watched her mother eat. She'd always known, she realised, that her mother was always more...more interested in Christian than her. It was a fair sentiment - Christian would be head of the household one day, and with their father usually in London, what Christian did _counted. _On the other hand, (and Abigail allowed herself a small grin at this) she herself was allowed to do...well, whatever she pleased, really.

Lady Victoria looked up as the door opened and Christian entered the room, standing expectantly at the back of Abigail's chair. Abigail realised she was sitting at the head of the table and hastily moved herself.

"Sorry, Christian," she said, swapping into the next chair along and moving her breakfast, "Old habits."

Christian shrugged and began to eat his breakfast.

"So!" said Lady Victoria, her 'social' smile pasted on her face, "What are you planning today, my dear?"

Christian didn't answer. Abigail decided to intervene.

"I was going to invite Christian to come around the estate and into the village with me, to catch up on what he's missed." she said, pushing her chair out and standing up, "I'll be on the drive by the front door in about half an hour, if you want to come."

Half an hour later, Abigail left the house to find Christian sitting glumly on the step, watching two birds sitting on the roof of the car.

"Everything's in pairs-" he explained futiley, waving his hand in their general direction.

Abigail filed that little nugget away for later.

"I thought we might ride," she said, walking towards the stables, "is that ok with you?"

Christian shrugged and stood up.

They walked in silence to the stables, reaching the damp wooden building quickly.

"Joby?" called Abigail into the tack shed. A tall, gangly boy of about 14 came to the door.

"Who's there?" he said, and then, "Mistress Abigail! And Master Christian as well!"

"We'll be riding out today, Joby, would you kindly prepare the horses?"

A wide grin spread across Joby's face.

"Shall I prepare Snowball for the master? He's sick sore of not being ridden."

Abigail nodded with the air of an indulgent mother until Joby went off to get the horses.

Then, she began clawing at her back, reaching for an area she clearly couldn't reach to.

"Oh, for goodness sake," she said finally, giving up, "Christian would you _please _undo my dress for me? Oh, don't look at me like that, just do it!"

Christian looked so shocked his eyes nearly dropped out of his head.

"Oh _please,_" she said, "It's not like I'm naked under here. Joby?" she asked again, as the stable lad came back out leading two horses. "Would _you _sort my dress out please?"

Joby grinned.

"Absolutely miss," he said, obligingly undoing her laces. Abigail stepped out of her dress to reveal a pair of boy's breeches and a loose cotton shirt.

"What?" said Abigail, amused, "I'm not going to ride around the village in a great big frilly dress, am I?"

Joby folded up the dress as Christian and Abigail mounted their horses. Snowball whickered in happiness at seeing his master again.

"Look after that, Joby!" called Abigail behind them as they walk off, "It's from France...London." she reminded Christian as he winced again, "Just London. Okay...you want to head towards the village first, or speak to the people on the estate? You probably need to catch up with what's going on for when you take over the day-to-day runnings again."

Christian shrugged.

"Oh for goodness sakes, Christian, would you _please _be a little more vocal on your opinions? I can't just guess what you're thinking, you know."

Christian sighed pointedly.

"Let's go to the village," said Abigail shortly, clearly exasperated, riding a little way ahead of Christian. "You can catch up with the locals."


	7. Chapter 6 Christine

**A/N Sorry it's been ages again. Also, I'm sorry if you don't like Christine much, this is mainly character development for her, and a teensy bit of foreshadowing? ALSO, I've had the most brilliant idea for a bloody fantastic plot twist...and I'm still deciding if I'm going to follow through with that. It's complicated, but if I did it...wow. You would be sh-ocked. Well. Maybe. So...read on :)**

Christine straightened her hat before she left the platform, ensuring her hair was tied back up into the tight bun it had been before the train journey.

A quick glance at the station clock told her that, as planned, she was several hours early for her second train, giving her the time she needed to get some things done.

Christine allowed a small smile to break through her ladylike exterior as she crossed Euston Road and hailed a cab.

"Oxford Street please," she said to the driver, settling herself neatly on the leather seat. The driver grunted and drove the horses on, down the busy London streets.

"You can stop here!" she said after a while, dropping a single gold coin into the drivers hand and stepping out of the carriage before he could protest.

The driver bit the coin to check its authenticity. Christine smiled to herself as he drove off, taking a sharp right and then a series of turns until she was far away from Oxford Street, perhaps not geographically, but certainly under the radar of those who often frequented Oxford Street.

Christine sighed and knocked a gloved hand on a peeling door. The plaque next to it said "London Central Orphanage" and nothing else, its brass sheen tarnished against the midday sun.

The door opened and a shabby looking maid in a too-big uniform opened the door.

"Hello, Eloise," said Christine, walking in, "how are you today?"

Eloise bobbed a curtsey.

"Fine thankyou ma'am," she said, smiling broadly, "will you be seeing Nellie first?"

"Yes please," said Christine, following her through to the office, "I'll come out and see the children later though, if you aren't too busy?"

"No ma'am," said Eloise, opening the door, "I'm sure we'll be fine."

Christine smiled at her and walked into the office, where Nellie Clements, the manager of the orphanage, was sitting at her desk, completing some paperwork.

At only 24, Nellie was trying her very best to turn what would have been a forgotten London orphanage into a sanctuary for the kids, showing a kind-heartedness that belied her high birth.

"Christine!" said Nellie, getting up and hugging Christine. "Oh, it's been forever!"

"You've done wonders with the place already, Nellie," said Christine warmly, sitting down.

"We couldn't have done it without you," said Nellie sincerely, "without your donations we'd be shut down by now."

Christine laughed.

"I put it all down to your hard work and we'll say no more. So, about these plans for the kitchens..."

o0o

2 hours later, Christine and Nellie emerged from the office, chatting warmly. A tiny girl of no older than six came out, her long blonde hair down to her waist already.

"Christine!" she shouted, barrelling into Christine.

Christine smiled indulgently and led the girl into a larger room, where a good 20 children between four and sixteen were spending some free time.

Letty, the oldest child, stood up and coughed.

"Erm...Christine..." she said, glancing at the ceiling, "well, the kids and I, we've thinkin' about what you've done for us like, so we saved up a bit and got you this."

Evidently relieved to have it over with, Letty produced a bunch of wilting daffodils.

Christine took them graciously and thanked them all for their dedication, then sat herself on a chair.

"How about some cards?" she suggested to Letty, and the rest of her time passed quickly at the orphanage.

o0o

"Whist." said Christine triumphantly, laying down her final card.

Nellie groaned.

"Beaten again." she said, throwing down her hand.

Christine laughed.

"I've had far too much practice. The French are very fond of their cards."

Far away in the distance, a church bell tolled seven times.

"Gosh!" said Christine, leaping up, "I'm going to miss my train!"

Immediately, one of the children got up and got Christine's cloak and hat, and Nellie assigned the two oldest boys to accompany her to the station.

Christine said fond farewells to the orphans of Central London orphanage, linked arms with the boys and walked out of the door, the little smile that had been often lacking in France now pasted firmly back on her face.

**An updated character list, incase you forgot!**

**The Family Claremont:**

**Christian Claremont - I think it's kind of obvious**

**Abigail Claremont - Christian's sister. I love her as a character. Maybe that's just me.**

**Lady Victoria Claremont - We haven't met her yet. But we will next chapter. Christian's mother**

**Lord Claremont - He's an arse. I have no intentions of ever putting him in. But I might.**

**The DuPonts**

**Christine DuPont - Abigail's friend, French, is coming to stay with the Claremont's for a while. Is supposed to have spent the last year with Christian in France.**

**Characters you probably won't be seeing again:**

**Johnny and Juliet Greening - sweet shop owners, non-churchgoers, friends of Christian**

**Perkins - what a dude. Station master bloke.**

**The London Orphanage Lot**

_**i.e Nellie Clements, highborn girl who managed the orphanage, **_

_**Letty the eldest orphan, **_

_**Eloise the parlour boarder, miscellaneous orphans**_


	8. Chapter 7 Christian!

**A/N 50 minutes till I go to bed, and with any luck I'll get this finished. Not, that I know what's going to happen yet! Anyway, it's time for my dear Christian...feels like I haven't written him in ages.**

Last night, I got drunk.

I suppose you could say I drank myself into oblivion.

I doubt Father will come back any time soon, to notice the three bottles of whisky missing from his drinks cabinet, and I won't care when he does.

It's sunny today, I've noticed.

That in itself is a good thing...I haven't noticed the sun for a long time.

_Like I've never seen the sky before_

Like a great big hand again, pulling out my insides and making my world spin.

"Oh for goodness sakes, Christian, would you please be a little more vocal on your opinions? I can't just guess what you're thinking, you know."

My little sister's voice, ringing out through the darkness like a badly played violin. She's riding in front of me, in front of the sun, and it hurts my eyes to look at her.

_Like I'd never seen the sky._

I haven't the heart to tell her that I'm not just apathetic, that it feels like if I opened my mouth to speak the words would catch on the way up and I wouldn't be able to squeeze them out, because there's a big Satine-sized hole where my heart used to be.

I nearly fall off my horse, so great the well of emotion that rides up in me, my heart beating in a jagged, throbbing beat against my throat, threatening my breathing, my sight, my everything. But I've done it, I've acknowledged that Satine...and here it comes again...that Satine was mine and Satine...Satine is gone.

"Christian?"

_Yes, Abigail? _I think, but the words don't get as far as my voice box, I'm too far in.

"Christian?" she says again, and she's worried now, and coaxing me, stumbling, off Snowball.

I feel the grass beneath my back and sit against it, trying to send my breathing back to normal. Finally, I can see clearly again.

Abigail's face hovers in front of mine, anxious.

"I'm fine," _physically, _"honestly." _liar._

"Christian..." she says, sitting down beside me, "if I know one thing, it's that you are not. Fine."

"I am," I say, "no. I will be."

Abigail doesn't look satisfied.

"I'm trying, Abigail. Just...be patient."

She nods, begrudgingly. We stand up and start to walk, leading the horses, because I don't think Abigail will let me ride again yet.

"Spring is coming," she says eventually, changing the subject, "Look."

She's pointing to two pale flowers together in the grass.

"I'm glad the winter's over," continues Abigail conversationally, "I hate the cold."

The last part of the sentence is lost on me as a line from that song floats into my head.

_Seasons may change, winter to spring,_

I know what's coming next, and I try to close my mind to it but it's too late-

_I will love you,_

_Until the end of time._

I stop stock still in the middle of the road, suddenly incensed.

"Every corner!" I shout, losing it, "every road, every street, every flower, every song, why does it all have to remind me!"

I'm vaguely concious of Abigail's horror, but I don't care any more, I have to get _out _of here.

I start scrambling.

Later, and somehow, I'm in a field. And it's raining.

_Storm clouds may gather_

SHUT UP!

I may have said that out loud, screaming it to the heavens.

It was useless, trying to get away from the village. I'm trying to get away from inside my own _head._

As though realising it has sated it, I feel more normal again.

Well. Pseudo-normal.

There's a barn in the field, and it's raining. There is a distant rumble of thunder. The two statements connect in my brain. I go into the barn, and sit, and wait.

What for? I don't know.

Maybe two hours later, and the door bangs open, and Abigail rushes in, soaking wet and completely hysterical.

"Christian!" she shouts, so relieved it's touching, only just stopping herself from hugging me.

"Where have you _been_?" her relief turning into slight anger, "I've been going crazy with worry."

I gesture at the barn, suddenly numb."

"Are you _ever _going to tell me what's going on?" she asks, frustrated now.

"No." I say, like it's obvious.

"Thanks, Christian," she says, losing her patience "Thanks alot. Are you coming back to the village, or are you going to throw another hissy fit now?"

I manage to muster up a modicum of anger, enough to stalk out of the barn before she does.

**Ok, you like? I like. Christian has more angsty-ness in him, clearly. The reason I ended it here was because, there will probably be a lot of description of the village when they visit the village, and I kind of need Abigail for that, Christian is way blind to his surroundings because he's heartbroken...et cetera, blah blah. ANGST. No, I made Abigail mean to him at the end. I promise she'll say sorry eventually though :)**


	9. Chapter 9 Abigail

**A/N - I KNOW I KNOW. Don't hate me!! It's been tooo long since I updated this, or anything really, my mind's been kinda mundane. Don't panic though. I hated the last chapter so badly that it completely screwed my Christine mojo. Have this to keep you going, anyway.**

So we walked out of this godforsaken shed in the middle of nowhere, and it would definately be true to say I'd never been so confused in my life. And in my long, frustrated and more than slightly frantic search for Christian, I'd firmly categorised them into 3 sections.

The first and most obvious was worry...or was it pity? Christian had gone through something at the Moulin Rouge, and I had no doubt that it was crushing him slowly. Worry, becaue his future was clouded, and pity, because God only knew what he was going through, inside his head, but it couldn't have been a nice place to be.

The second was where I categorised all my petty things - curiosity, bordering on nosiness, at Christian's story. Hurt, I suppose - before he had gone away, we had been close, and now he kept pushing me a way. And...jealousy? Yes, even though I knew it was wrong, I envied Christian because - because he, unlike I, had _lived, _and it left childish little Abigail still stuck in her nursery skirts. Christian had grown up in so many ways.

Over all these, though, was the burning desire to _help _Christian, and thus, as we walked rather ungracefully across the muddy fields towards the road, my mind was working.

In the distance, I heard a carriage rumble and automatically stepped to the side to let it pass, absorbed by my thoughts.

Confusing my rhythm, however, it drew to a halt beside me. I looked up to see why, and saw-

"Christine!" I shouted, flinging open the carriage door and violently hugging my friend, "you're early!"

"And you," said Christine critically, "are damp. And muddy. And dressed as a boy."

I blushed, then relaxed as Christine laughed.

"No fear, Abby darling, dressing as a man just makes you look like a _very _pretty, effeminate young boy."

"I'll take that as a compliment!" I said, joking around, then gasping as I remembered Christian, who was looking...depressed again, staring at a bank of primroses.

"Christine," I said, jumping out of the carriage and pulling Christian in, "this is my brother Christian."

Christine automatically put out her hand, and I directed a look at Christian until he took it, muttering "Charmed."

I sighed.

Christine laughed to break the silence.

"I hope you'll take the carriage back with me, Abby!"

"Oh, y-" I said, starting to accept and then remembering the horses, which I had left tied to a gatepost, "no, I ought to lead the horses back. Let Christian ride with you, though, so you can get your story straight."

"An excellent point, dear Abigail," said Christine as I ushered Christian into the carriage, "we can rendevous _chez vous _when you return."

**AHA you thought I forgot the horses, didn't you?**

**I hadn't.**

**Honestly.**

**Yeah, about Christine being early. I couldn't face ANOTHER chapter of just pussyfooting around, waiting for Christine to arrive, and her timeline was running a little bit too fast, anyway. **

**And I swear it wasn't this short last night!**


End file.
